Game of Life
by StreetVendorFanfiction
Summary: Desperate for admission into Beacon, Jaune strikes a deal with the God of Darkness for a supreme ability. A gift like The Gamer requires significant sacrifice, however, and Jaune's lifespan bears the burden. With a broken ability but only 5 days left to live, postsecondary education becomes the least of his worries…
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

**Decided to write a slight twist on typical Gamer fanfiction. Let me know what you think! **

**Pharos is a canon combat school— it's the school from which Velvet matriculated, among other students. I've changed Jaune's history slightly; he now attends Pharos. A minor AU condition because I can't understand how someone with Huntsman aspirations and probably a Huntsman lineage hasn't the slightest inkling of what becoming one entails— aura, Semblances, etc. **

Jaune curled into the fetal position in his dorm bed and waited for fitful sleep, though he couldn't imagine approaching drowsiness with a maelstrom of anguish wreaking havoc on his mind.

Enrolling in Pharos Combat School had been a mistake. He couldn't get into Signal— no surprise there— but Vale's second-best prep school had seemed a great backup option. Many of Pharos's finest still entered Beacon, and several alums achieved great fame as Huntsman and Huntresses.

Unfortunately, he'd vastly underestimated how difficult student life would be.

He wasn't the only one gunning for Beacon. No; the students of Pharos Academy fought tooth and nail for top spots in the classroom rankings, spurred by the chance of attending Vale's most prestigious Huntsman academy. Jaune quickly found himself relegated to the bottom of the rankings, barely keeping his head above water. The cutthroat nature of his class meant that few were willing to befriend a hapless bottom-feeder. Hell, he hadn't even gotten his aura until two weeks in, when a kind student had taken pity on him!

Beacon was so distant a mirage that even _thinking_ about it hurt.

He couldn't give up. Unthinkable. His father'd been a Huntsman, and his father before him, and his father— their family's lineage of warriors traced almost a millenium!

Then came Jaune Arc, the weakest link of the bunch. Only sheer desperation kept him from flunking out of even Pharos.

The truth was ugly. He simply lacked fighting talent. Swordsmanship didn't come easy to him, and neither did hand-to-hand combat. When his fellow students grew stronger, faster, and more powerful, he struggled to so much as grasp their ankles.

Reality was a cruel thing. Half a year had passed, and he'd scarcely made progress. Beacon application deadlines loomed in the next six months, and what did he have to show for it? Piss-poor class ranking and no combat accolades to date.

Then, what'd he do? Scurry home with his tail between his legs, begging for shelter and food from his disappointed parents?

Jaune Arc— perpetual failure. Doomed to a life of servitude. Mediocre. Garbage. Talentless. He'd been hearing those words for months now, and he'd worked harder than ever to prove them false.

Hard work, sadly, did not trump talent.

He didn't even get physically bullied— he wasn't significant enough to register as a target.

No friends, no future, and a life of disappointment loomed before him.

He wouldn't cry. He _wouldn't_! What was he, a child? Curling up and wallowing in his self-pity?

Yet here he was, trounced yet again in sparring. Today had been especially brutal— he'd been beaten by the worst student in the class, and now he assumed that position.

If he submitted that transcript to any reputable Huntsman institution, he'd be laughed out of the office.

"Get it together, Jaune," he whispered. "You can do this. You're an _Arc_! You just have to believe. Keep working at it."

Weren't those the same words he whispered to himself on a daily basis? How many times had they held true? More importantly, he didn't have time left to delude himself. Beacon registration was too close for comfort and as he was, he stood no chance of getting in.

No matter what he tried. No matter how hard he worked. Life wasn't fair.

As he curled up in the dark, thoughts bombarded him. What good was living like this? Working the life of some peasant, some eternal disappointment, where every day became a grind of the could-have-been? Waking up every day knowing he was a colossal failure, a fraud to his own name?

The worst thing was, he couldn't do anything about it no matter how hard he tried.

He sniffled but didn't cry. No, he kept that one modicum of dignity and held it close.

Oh, what he'd give for a shred of talent, even a tiny ray of hope! A fraction of the talent of the other students in his class would suffice! What good was living his life if he'd never amount to anything? Heck, he'd give an arm to be able to fight with his other one.

Time passed at a crawl. As night faded to midnight and transitioned to dusk, Jaune drifted out of consciousness, still curled into himself.

As he passed between the conscious and the unconscious, a thought passed through his mind.

'If there is a diety— any at all— I'd do _anything_ to be gifted. _Anything_.'

The vast expanse of a dreamless sleep overtook him.

And from it, an even greater darkness emerged.

Jaune bolted up. What was happening? Had he fallen asleep in his dorm? Why was he stranded in this vast space of emptiness? A void stretched around him in all directions, smothering him in sheer black. There was no sound— not even the faintest thump of his own heartbeat nor the quiet rhythm of his breathing.

Was this a dream?

If so, he couldn't recall ever being this lucid in one.

A being formed from the darkness before him. Black fashioned into ink-like limbs, stretching into an ethereal, obsidian, giant man. He floated fully-formed in the air, regarding Jaune with a cool gaze— if pupil-less eyes could have that quality. A formless pressure emanated from him, spreading like gravitational pulls and dispersing across Jaune's body.

"For a gift, you'd do anything?" the creature asked, gravelly tone echoing across walls that weren't there.

What an insane dream. Some enterprising prankster had slipped some hallucinogen into his dinner, no doubt. He groaned.

"I don't care what it takes. Anything. I'm so, _so_ sick of being useless! What's the point of living life if I'm going to be just… me?"

He didn't know what compelled him to spit out the truth, especially to a drug-induced mirage, but he did.

"Great gifts require great sacrifice," said the man cloaked in darkness, leveling him with a flat gaze. "Are you prepared to face the consequences?"

Jaune laughed, a broken sound. "Look, I don't know what you are. Are you supposed to represent my insecurities, or something? Well, whatever it is— I don't care. Are you kidding? I'd give anything— anything! I mean, look at me. I've been driven so insane I'm talking to my own projections!"

"Then we have formed a covenant. Remember your words, human."

The man's body began to deform. His arms liquefied into dark nothing, and his torso and legs joined that puddle. Jaune stepped back— or whatever waddling equivalent he could do in this strange space.

"Uh, hello? Are— are you okay?"

The graphics in this dream were horrifyingly precise. Apparently, his imagination was more powerful than he'd thought.

Then, that black orb launched at him and sank through his chest.

He screamed.

=II=

He woke up panting. Sweat matted his shirt slick to his body. Had that truly all been a dream? That felt so real! The creature, the pact, the nauseating feeling of that blackness merging with his chest…

**Name: Jaune Arc**

**Level: 4 **

**CON: 8**

**STR: 8**

**CON: 8**

**DEX: 8**

**AGI: 8**

**INT: 8**

**WIS: 8**

**Lifespan Remaining: 5 days**

Huh? What was this floating window? Were the drugs he'd apparently inadvertently taken stronger than he expected?

He'd played enough games to recognize gaming stats when he saw them. A strange representation of his attributes, to be sure. Without anything to compare them to, he couldn't tell whether they were good or bad.

Wait… Lifespan— 5 days.

5 days?

5 days?!

This couldn't be real, right? There was no chance this 'screen' meant anything. He wiped a hand toward it, and it faded instantly. He blinked. A trick of the light?

Words ran through his mind. "Great gifts require great sacrifice…"

What was he thinking? That strange creature wasn't real; he'd dreamt it all. Whatever status window had appeared must've been an aftereffect.

If he tried to bring it back, say, by thinking _status_ and _willing_ something to pop up, of course it wouldn't—

Name**: Jaune Arc**

**Level: 4 **

**EXP: 60/400 **

**CON: 8**

**STR: 8**

**DEX: 8**

**AGI: 8**

**INT: 8**

**WIS: 8**

**Lifespan Remaining****: 5 days**

Oh.

He blinked again. A step to the left and the screen followed, centering square in his vision.

Weird. He walked forward, prying open the door and stepping into the hallway. A few students milled out on their way to breakfast, but none paid him or his strange new visual any heed. One student walked _straight through_ his projection without so much as a second glance!

What was happening? He closed his eyes, then opened them. Still there.

If this functioned like a video game… hypothetically, if he simply willed it to disappear—

And it did.

A lump formed in his throat.

How real was that? He brought it up again, and it flickered into view. Another thought dismissed it. That crazy dream… did it have anything to do with this?

Did- did that mean that '5 day' lifespan was representative of reality?

Jaune had never considered himself superstitious, but even he started to have doubts.

What if what that creature had said was true?

Had he truly been given some sort of gift? How would a status screen help him with anything— especially if he only had _five days_ of life remaining?

None of this was confirmed. He needed to calm himself. Telling himself that, however, didn't allay any worry. "No, no, no, no…"

**[Affliction: Panic] **

"I'm aware!" he growled at the air. He paced the hallway, unfocused. This couldn't be happening, right? What was the point of a gift if he only had five days in which to use it? His end goal was to enter Beacon! As far as he was aware, they didn't accept cadavers!

It _could_ be false, but the system had identified his panicked affliction just fine. Assuming he'd genuinely sacrificed the majority of his lifespan…

This could _not_ be the end. He refused to accept it. On the chance that his lifespan was truly more than decimated, he could not go down as some idiot on the wrong end of a Faustian bargain!

**[Recurring Level Quest: Level 10] **

**Reach Level 10 in the allotted time frame. **

**Time: 5 days. **

**Reward: 10 days of lifespan, 3000 EXP **

**This quest is mandatory. **

"This… this is real…" he whispered to himself, numb.

Making the insane assumption that this truly functioned like a video game— and he needed to level up— how would he do it?

Accepting quests, for one. Killing monsters should yield EXP as well. In this case, they'd be Grimm, no?

Unless he could work up the gumption to sneak into a fellow student's dorm at night…

He shook his head. What was he thinking? He'd _never_ assassinate a fellow person, ever!

Grimm… he doubted he could survive an encounter with even a potbellied pig Grimm, but then again, he'd never tried. There was a forest infested with Grimm not too far from Pharos used as a traditional training ground. Perhaps in the evening when he had some free time, he could go out and train?

It wasn't hopeless after all. He heaved a sigh. Didn't have a clue how many Grimm he'd have to slay to reach that level 10 mark— it was more than double his current level, after all— but there was, in theory, a way to accomplish the task.

Of course, finishing Quests would be much easier. Quests yielded EXP— if only the requirement to complete this Quest didn't necessitate the EXP he'd get from finishing it! He groaned. What a dumb paradox!

All of this was pure speculation, he had to remind himself. Until he tested it, there was no concrete way to know if any of his postulated methods of getting EXP were legitimate. Heck, he'd began to subconsciously accept this whole '_gaming_' system as reality already! It _looked_ true and seemed to reflect reality accurately enough, but there were always methods to achieve realistic fakes.

His drug hypothesis popped back up into his mind.

Just what had he gotten himself into…?

He shook his head. All of this complexity and thought bombarding him was building up steadily in his head, and he was starting to feel a panicked pressure.

"Argh!"

The clear chime of morning bells cut through his mental breakdown.

In all his confusion, he'd forgot about first period!

On instinct, his legs moved. Soon he was pattering down the halls, breathing heavy. Somehow, he managed to put aside his personal crisis for a class that would be rendered meaningless if his worst fears came to pass.

Jaune tried not to think about it. Employing the tried-and-true method of ignoring his problems until they went away, he dashed into the lecture hall. The doors echoed slightly as they scraped; the hall was built in an octagonal shape so that sound spread evenly throughout.

The downside was, of course, that late students could seldom sneak in without notice.

The instructor, Mr. Insley, a portly, balding, middle-aged former Huntsman, flicked a disinterested eye as Jaune entered, but otherwise didn't comment.

He snuck into a seat near the back of the class and tried to appear as invisible as possible.

Mr. Insley appeared to be gearing up for morning sparring. Every day, they began by conducting sparring sessions among themselves to determine class rankings and practice their skills. Usually, the sessions took most of the morning. Pharos was a preparatory school, true, but a _combat_ school first, which reflected in its schedule.

"Let us begin the sparring portion of today's class. Will Mr. Green and Ms. Farrow please come forward?"

As two of his classmates hopped up to spar, Jaune sank into thought.

This morning had been unusual. He would've suspected someone was playing some elaborate prank on him were he not too insignificant to be worth the effort of pranking.

Rather than think about the possibility of imminent death, he tried focusing on the match before him. Believing it was all some bizarre phenomenon was easier— and more convenient— than believing he'd been handed a death sentence. It was surprisingly easy to convince himself he'd hallucinated all of that when it wasn't in his face— and when he was actively trying _not_ to consider the possibility.

The two fighters seemed to both favor swords. They sported mechanized weaponry which transformed into other forms, but kept them in a stable blade as they circled each other. One was an orange-haired girl— Ms. Farrow, Mr. Insley had called her— who kept her feet in a bladed stance. Jaune was only vaguely aware of her; her ranking wasn't particularly high, her style wasn't flashy, and she seldom made waves in class.

As he scrutinized her, a number and label appeared above her head.

**Lin Farrow**

**Level 11**

Not this nonsense again! Shoo! Shoo!

The markers faded at his command.

**[New Skill: Observe] **

**Level 1**

**Provides an assessment of a target. **

Argh!

It kept happening!

He wasn't about to have a panic attack in the middle of class, he told himself. But he could hardly ignore it, especially when it kept popping up.

Trying to distract himself, he focused on their movements. Lin kept her legs almost equidistant to her center as she moved, assuming a constant base. She flowed like a river, crashing against her opponent's defenses with solid pressure. He could see her opponent failing under her assault. True enough, a few strikes later, and his aura dropped to 30%.

"Well done, Miss Farrow," Mr. Insley congratulated as her opponent slumped offstage, suitably embarrassed. "Would you like to continue?"

"I'm ready," she replied.

"Good. Mister Arc, if you would?"

He froze.

Mr. Insley couldn't mean _him_, could he?

"M-me?"

The man cocked an eyebrow. "That _is_ your last name, isn't it? Is there another Jaune Arc? Come forward."

"Err— yes! Of course!" he stammered, staggering to his feet.

True, Lin wasn't in the upper echelon of the class, but she was still leagues above him! She fought near square average— 16th in their class of 30, over ten places above his meager rank. Was Insley using him as fodder for her?

**[Quest: Defeat Lin Farrow] **

**Defeat Lin Farrow. **

**Reward: 900 EXP.**

**Accept? Y/N**

He read it through, then a second time.

He almost cried.

This whole hallucination had become too real to ignore. His attempts at ducking reality only followed with his being dragged back into it by a series of notifications and status alerts.

For the first time, however, he was _glad_ to see one.

A chance at salvation!

900 EXP? That was more than enough to fulfill the requirement for one level, wasn't it? A far cry from the 6 levels he needed to reach the level 10 benchmark, but better than nothing.

"Yes!" he shouted. Thirty heads swiveled to face him, and his face burned.

**[Quest Accepted] **

All he needed to do was beat the girl who'd just utterly pulverized someone much stronger than him.

… Oh, dear.

Hanging his head, he made his way down to the combat stage. Crocea Mors hung on the weapons rack, and he equipped his weapon with shaky hands.

Lin glared at him, her sword already leveled. Crap. Had she taken his exultation as a

mockery of her?

He gulped and stepped up.

"Begin!"

She charged.

He almost lost his grip on his sword as she closed in, practically frothing at the mouth. Barely dodging the strike almost had him tripping over his own feet— and the next attack was already incoming.

Yelping, he ducked an overhead strike and backpedaled, face pale.

Two moves in, and the difference in skill and athleticism was tangible.

Having put some distance between him and Lin, he took a moment to breathe.

He didn't know how many of these 'quests' would pop up. If his existence depended on him, he couldn't afford to waste any of them— even this one. His whole life was a series of attempts at overcoming impossible odds. What claim could he have to Beacon if he couldn't beat a class-average combatant at Pharos?

The previous fight flitted through his mind, each combatant's movements playing in brief spurts. He tried to recall the footwork Lin had employed, the grip she'd used on her sword. His mind raced in an attempt to find a solution, piecing together everything he'd seen and learned about the way Lin fought.

She advanced again, swinging— but offense was not her forte, he realized. She was a grinder, not a striker. By enraging her into furious attacks, he took her out of her strongest element.

As she swung, nostrils flaring, he hunched down and raised his shield.

When the strike hit, it may as well have rendered his defense immaterial. Even though it didn't land, the sheer force transferred knocked him back three steps. He needed to increase his strength. Even blocked shots sent him flying!

Using the momentum, Jaune swung his sword in his own counter strike.

Lin glanced up, surprised. Perhaps she hadn't expected he'd have the gumption to counterattack, or that he'd muster something even resembling a decent strike. Whatever the case, his sword was not two feet from her head when she finally reacted, throwing up a hasty parry.

Swords clashed, and Jaune's arm jolted. He gritted his teeth. The rebounding force felt like he'd hit a brick wall. A moment later, both of them separated and stepped back. Jaune flexed his hand, which still trembled from the impact. Lin, meanwhile, narrowed her eyes, reassessing him with a calm gaze.

**[New Skill: Basic Swordsmanship] **

**Represents the user's ability to wield swords in combat. **

**Level 1**

Instantly, his muscle memory shifted. Movements which once felt unwieldy or awkward now proved natural to perform. His grip on his sword adjusted, and the weapon felt _right_ in his hands. Merely sparring with weapons provided him the skills to use them? If each additional skill increased his familiarity as much as it'd just done…

A silly smile spread across his face. Lin caught his expression and snarled.

"W-wait! I wasn't—"

She struck like a feral animal.

He _really_ needed to stop overtly reacting to things only he could see.

On the bright side, enraging her proved to be accidental genius. Jaune had little doubt that she could walk him down and exhaust him by using her same restrained style. Being taunted by one of the worst students in Pharos, however, removed her inhibitions.

This time, he could sense the path of her sword as she moved. With a quick sidestep, he dodged the telegraphed shot before closing in with a rapid thrust.

Lin yelped, surprised, as his blade cut a swathe out of her aura. She hopped back, her face curling into a mask of confusion and rage. He didn't blame her. Even _he _didn't know he could do that!

His eyes traced his hand in wonder.

The movement was crisper, faster, and smoother than any thrust he'd ever done. How strong would he be when he reached level 2, or even higher?

Smiling even wider, he advanced on her.

This time, he could tell she took him seriously. She settled back into a low crouch, sword held diagonally in front.

He took a stab at her. Blocked. Slash. Blocked. Thrust. Blocked.

Grunting, he tried increasing the pressure, throwing strike after strike with his newfound skills.

To his chagrin, however, none slipped through her defense.

"Ow!"

A stinging sensation erupted up his arm and he moved back, wincing. Somehow, she'd scored a strike up his arm he hadn't even seen.

Okay, so he'd gotten better— but not _that_ much better.

As she was in the process of demonstrating, a class-average student could still wipe the floor with him.

He settled down and gritted his teeth, holding off on his offensive. Then, it became her turn to walk him down.

She moved forward slowly, her sword cutting against his defenses like a grindstone. He found himself being pushed back. Her movements were slow and placid, but he couldn't find any weaknesses— or, likely, he was too unskilled to take advantage of them. Whatever the case, he found himself being whittled down.

Every few seconds he'd be forced to take a few steps back. He could feel her pressure mounting on him as she forced him to dodge or circle back, constantly moving forward. Not good.

He tried an overhead strike in an attempt to distract her enough for him to gain some ground. No such luck. Apparently, she'd expected him to do that— she charged in as he went for it, and he had to stumble back to avoid getting cleaved in the head.

All too many times, he'd seen how this story unfolded.

How much longer did he have? Thirty seconds, maybe a minute?

In all of his excitement at gaining a new skill, he'd forgotten why he was doing this.

He _needed_ to win. Lin wanted to maintain her class ranking, but the stakes for him were literally life-or-death. Failure was not an option!

With the way she was grinding him to dust, however, he didn't have an opening to even hit her.

Desperate times required desperate measures. As she moved forward, an insane plan came to mind.

She stabbed at him, but she blocked the strike. With his chest.

Pain spiked up his body and he groaned, almost buckling under the impact. His aura dropped precipitously, coming dangerously close to red range.

But he'd accomplished his objective.

Lin stared, wide-eyed, at his grip on her wrist. She tried pulling away, but he held on as though his life depended on it. Which it did. With a twist of his wrist, her sword clattered to the ground. He had no doubt her strength was greater than hers, but as a swordsman, she'd probably never been taught how to break hand grips. Needles to say, mere tugging wasn't effective.

With his other hand, he began laying into her with his own sword. Deprived of her weapon, she could only curl up and try to jerk away as he rained down blow after blow. She tried pulling away, but he made sure to maintain his grip.

He didn't think he'd ever tried so hard in a fight. He'd never approached a duel with anything resembling a good strategy before, either, but desperation brought something out of him.

Clearly, Lin had never been trapped like this before. She jerked as mightily as she could, but whatever attempts at escape were hindered by her simultaneous attempts to block his flurry of strikes. Her aura steadily dropped—

"Enough!" roared Mr. Insley.

Jaune let go, his heart still hammering.

"Well done, Mister Arc," his instructor said. "Perhaps there's hope for you after all."

Ouch.

**[Quest Complete: Defeat Lin Farrow] **

**Reward: 900 EXP**

**[Level up!] **

**[Level up!]**

Name**: Jaune Arc**

**Level: ****6**

**EXP: ****60/600**

**CON: 8 + 4 = 12**** (+)**

**STR: ****8 + 4 = 12 (+)**

**DEX: 8**** \+ 4 = 12 ****(+)**

**AGI: 8**** \+ 4= 12 ****(+)**

**INT: 8**** \+ 4 = 12 ****(+)**

**WIS: 8**** \+ 4 = 12 ****(+)**

**Lifespan Remaining: 5 days**

**Stat Points: 4 Unspent **

That sensation— absolutely heavenly, like he was being reborn! Every faculty, physical or mental, felt refreshed, stronger, and faster. He could even sense it in the way he moved. Had his body always felt this light, or his thoughts so clear?

He hopped off the stage and returned to his seat, a few incredulous gazes trailing him. Some of his classmates looked at him with scrunched brows, like they were trying to remember who he was.

Victory was oh-so-sweet. His head still swam, overwhelmed by it all. Even he could scarcely believe he'd accomplished that! More importantly, now he knew his task wasn't impossible. With a few more quests like these, reaching level 10 seemed at least possible, a huge improvement from hours before.

Would he get them all from quests? How'd he trigger them— by putting himself in compromising situations? Maybe he could try hunting some Grimm and see if that'd do anything. In that instant, the world opened up to him.

First things first— he'd gotten four unspent points from the level up. Assuming this worked like a video game— at this point, he was all too sure of that assumption— where would he spend it?

Wisdom and intelligence had utility. He had a suspicion everything from strategizing to studying would progress much smoother if he upgraded those. While forming a battle strategy had merit, short-term power gains were more pressing if he was to survive this ordeal. He could upgrade Wisdom later.

A good argument could be made for strength. Increasing his dexterity, too, would be immensely helpful. If constitution— that was CON, right?— meant aura reserves and he could increase his by 25%, that'd also be a massive advantage. HP, a fixture of video games, was missing. If he had to create an equivalent, that'd be aura, right?

Was aura simply a fixed stat, or was that bundled somewhere else? Maybe increasing constitution would help. Curious, he tapped the plus button next to constitution.

A surge of warmth ran through his body, spreading down his torso, arms, and legs. New energy filled every aspect of his body. There weren't many visible changes— his skin might've been slightly more clear, his body the slightest bit more toned?— but he could _feel_ the difference. More critically, his aura reserves swelled with the addition, expanding a good margin.

He'd decided. Constitution would be a key focus. Increasing his ability to tank damage would be more and more critical the more combat he did.

For now, he'd split the points between constitution and strength. A few taps later, he pulled the status screen back up once more.

**Level: 6 **

**EXP: 60/600**

**CON****: 1****4**

**STR: 1****4**

**DEX: 12**

**AGI:****12**

**INT: 12**

**WIS:****12**

**Lifespan Remaining: 5 days**

**Stat Points****: 0 **

To his joy, increasing strength appeared to have direct benefits to his body. He hadn't noticed before, but the accumulated 6 points in the category since the beginning of the day manifested in clear physical changes. Were his arms always so defined? They weren't muscular or even lean by any stretch— most of the guys in the class still looked bigger— but he'd taken a step from being a blonde, skinnyfat noodle.

For the rest of class, he tried observing the sparring matches as closely as possible, making sure to note each fighter's unique style.

Some favored open stances, others parallel. Ranged attackers— wielders of either hybrids or pure bow-and-arrow or gun configurations— fought in completely different styles in comparison to melee strikers. Each fighting style contained individualized movements, footwork, techniques…

Maybe it was the increased intelligence or wisdom, but for once, he seemed to be absorbing— and, amazingly, actually _learning_!

**[****Level Up Skill!] **

**[Observe] **

**Level ****2**

**Provides an assessment of a target. **

The fights continued for another hour, but his careful scrutiny helped pass the time. By the end, he'd absorbed information to the brink of overload. So many ideas and subtleties… he wasn't sure how much it'd help him, but having an increased understanding of general combat couldn't hurt. He still couldn't wield another weapon— at least, with any level of proficiency— but he now understood an inkling of how they worked.

Only as he neared the end of class did he realize a change in his behavior.

If this were any other day, he might have spent half the class distracted, sneaking glances at pretty girls or daydreaming, or attempting to learn something but having information slip through his brain like water in a sieve.

Death was an amazing motivator, apparently.

"Very good," Mr. Insley finally said as the final fight concluded, his cold voice booming across the room. "Remember to prepare for the Combat Theory exam on weaponry tomorrow! We have but a few assessments left before the final. I expect good results!"

**[Quest: Ace The Exam] **

**Score 100**% **on the upcoming Combat Theory exam. **

**Reward: 850 EXP**

**Accept? Y/N **

So the 'dangerous-situation' hypothesis went right out the window. Any mundane topic could be a quest?

Why, then, were the rewards so high? 850 EXP was almost as high as what he'd gotten for the last quest, and the degree of difficulty of that one wasn't anything to scoff at.

To be fair, he hadn't aced a test before— maybe ever. He scrunched his brows. How many times had he gotten above a 90% this year? Once, maybe twice? He thought hard. No occasions came to mind.

Oh.

Well, he wasn't going to turn down the possibility of free experience, especially if it would translate to real-world gains. What was the harm?

This time, he attempted to accept the Quest with a mental nod. To his relief,

**[Quest Accepted!] **

Popped up.

Four and a half days left to amass five levels. A breath collected in his lungs, and he exhaled.

He could— no, _would _do it. He had to. Literally.

**A/N **

**This series won't include a deluge of skills like in many other Gamer-type fanfictions. In most such stories, 85% of skills become extraneous or are rendered obsolete as the series progresses, and I'd like for each skill I introduce to matter. **

**Lifespan timer updates by day. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thanks for the feedback! I realize it's been a while since my last update, but I've had a lot going on. **

Dinner became an afterthought. Jaune bolted back to his dorm as soon as class had finished, locking the door behind him. He'd never been much of a test taker, but he needed to remedy that if he wanted to finish the quest.

He opened a textbook— _Fundamentals of Weapon Design_— and began to read.

They'd been studying the function and purpose of weapons in the past week. He assumed he'd be tested on the subject. Sadly, however, his notes on the topic were sparse. His notes on almost every topic were sparse, honestly. His greatest struggles in class didn't involve convoluted questions or time limits— he was far more worried about staying awake.

Which left him with few options. Review the textbook, he supposed? He began flipping through the pages.

The accrued +4 to intelligence helped more than he'd expected. When he read, retaining information seemed simpler. After a ten-minute reading on a segment on the efficacy of crossguards, he managed to absorb most of it.

The problem? Increased stats didn't translate to interesting reading. Sure, finishing the segment was easier when he understood the majority of what he read, but the task was still arduous. If Jaune knew something about himself, it was that he wasn't studious by nature.

Twenty minutes into reading, and his eyelids began to droop.

No! Think about death. Imminent death. Painful, terrible death.

Groaning, he pried his eyes back open and resumed reading.

One hour… two… three…

At some point, the sun had dimmed and slid down to the horizon.

Against every instinct of his body, though, he kept… forging… on…

His brain felt as though it'd been turned to mush. Words stopped making sense. He'd managed to absorb a lot— or so he thought— but most of the past half hour consisted of drifting into half-sleep before snapping awake.

**[Affliction: Fatigue] **

He couldn't continue like this. There must be a way to remove that affliction.

Could he forfeit the quest?

Imagine that— surviving the hardest fight of his life, but defeated by schoolwork. Gritting his teeth, he hunkered down. There was no telling how many more opportunities he'd be presented with in the time frame remaining. He'd never forgive himself if _this _was the corner he cut which prevented him from reaching Level 10.

Moonlight slanted through the window, spilling like luminous silk over his desk. His pen glistened in the light, the tip a sharp glow. He frowned, a thought springing to mind.

Then, he picked it up and stabbed himself in his non-dominant hand.

He hissed. A stab of pain traveled up his hand. It throbbed and burned, and suddenly he was awake. The drowsiness was gone, replaced by waves of pain. Wincing, he flexed his hand, the wound like hot coals buried in the center of his palm.

His Aura protected him, but it still stung.

Thankfully, however, adrenaline replaced drowsiness. Bolstered by that stint of clarity, he forged on.

Pages turned. The dark violet of the sky shifted to brighter hues. Words flowed into his mind, and stab wounds numbered more and more on the backs of his palms.

By the time the sun peeked over the horizon, he was utterly drained.

There was still the test to go, he reminded himself somberly.

Limping with fatigue, he stumbled over to the hallway and thrust open the door. Shower. He needed a cold one, just enough to keep him alert for another hour or so.

It was early in the morning. The birds had scarcely risen from their nests, and only the most dedicated of students were awake at this hour. Yawning, Jaune walked over to the boys' communal showers located in the middle of the hall.

As he walked in, a shock of red hair strolled out.

Jaron Nikos glanced at him, a towel curled around his head.

Jaune didn't have much to do with him. He was one of the highest ranked in their class, an absolute talent with the spear. They'd only spoken on the first few days of school, back when he didn't know how weak Jaune was.

Now, he treated Jaune like the rest.

"Hey," the redhead addressed, appraising him. "Nice fight yesterday."

Starting, Jaune gave him a double-take. How unusually friendly. "Er… thanks?"

The other boy nodded once before walking back down the hallway.

Strange.

Whatever the case, Jaune entered the showers and made sure to douse himself thoroughly with bone-chillingly cold water. When he walked out, he was more alert than when he'd first begun to study.

Test time.

=II=

The exam was conducted on specially-made scrolls designed for testing purposes only. Identifying weapon parts, strategy, use cases… the list continued.

A question about the historical period of the crossbow's height in popularity? He scrunched his brows, and a few dates popped into mind. A few about identifying possible indicators of shift-forms in multi-from weapons, then one about optimal battle strategy…

Was it just him, or did this test seem easier? The increase in intelligence helped, sure, but it couldn't account for the whole difference. Probably a bit of both. Questions ranged from simple to difficult and complex, and some left him scratching his head as to whether he answered them correctly.

Every light tick of the clock was like a drum beat to his ears. He shuffled his feet, crossed his legs over one another, began a nervous ticking with his finger. As time passed, he became acutely aware of the rhythmic pumps of his heart, and only more cognizant of his mortality.

How silly was it that his life hinged on an exam?

As time wound down, so, too, did his answers. For the first time he could remember, he finished slightly early. There was a brief pause between the end of his exam and when Mr. Insley called time, just enough for him to amass more anxiety.

A bell marked the end of the exam.

Jaune heaved a sigh, leaning back, as his test scroll hummed briefly, evaluating his results.

A green marker, followed by a percentage. 100%. It was the first time he'd aced a test that he could remember.

**[Quest Complete: Ace The Exam] **

**Reward: 850 EXP **

**[Level Up!] **

Name: **Jaune Arc**

**Level: ****7**

**EXP: ****31****0/****7****00**

**CON: 14**** \+ 2 = 16 (+)**

**STR: 14**** \+ 2 = 16 (+)**

**DEX: 12**** \+ 2 = 14 (+)**

**AGI: 12**** \+ 2 = 14 (+)**

**INT: 12**** \+ 2 = 14 (+)**

**WIS: 12**** \+ 2 = 14 (+)**

**Lifespan Remaining: ****4 ****days**

**Stat Points: ****2 Unspent**

He heaved a relieved sigh. The warm sensation of a level-up flowed through his body, and the noose of the Reaper loosened around his neck.

It wasn't so much a triumph as a brief respite. Three levels to go. Could he maintain the pace of a level a day? He thought so, but then again, he hadn't a clue how quests worked.

Class continued as usual, though he didn't spar that day. He kept waiting for some event that would prompt a quest, but no such thing happened. They meandered through a lecture on introductory Grimm with little fanfare.

Speaking of Grimm…

He _could _leave leveling to the introduction of new Quests, but he hadn't gotten one today. Whatever governed Quest-creation didn't see fit to throw him a lifesaver, apparently. He _could_ try to create some conditions for a Quest, but a part of him was more curious about other methods of EXP gain.

After all, Quests had all but dragged him around by the nose the past two days. True, they were immensely helpful, but he didn't know if he liked the idea of being beholden to them for EXP.

So after class ended, he headed in the opposite direction of his normal afternoon haunts.

Pharos took elements of Beacon's architectural style, though flattened against the ground. There were few high-rise buildings, and facilities were instead spread over a larger land mass. This lead to a labyrinthine series of sectors in the school, each leading to visually similar areas. Jaune _still_ frequently got lost trying to find his way beyond the dorm-class route.

"Er…"

He'd been trying to find his way to the forest, maybe try a few Grimm on. With his current expertise— plus the unspent attribute points he resolved to use later— he was fairly certain he could at least escape alive. After all, Boarbatusks, the most dangerous of the Grimm present, were rare. Most of the time, the creatures that appeared were weaker variants of Beowolves. Should be manageable, in theory…

The issue was getting _to_ the forest.

Jaune scratched his head, turning in a circle. He'd gone _somewhere_. The buildings here were more sparse, for sure. He was pretty sure he was headed in the general direction of the forest. Maybe he'd try continuing down the gradient? The fewer buildings the better, right?

A few minutes of confused walking later, he reached the school's edge. A dark treeline lay beyond, the cool air whispering a trailing, mournful melody through its branches.

This should be the Verdant Forest. Weird— it didn't look too vibrant to him. If anything, the trees looked imposing and dark, with muted, black-green colors.

He gulped.

Confronting real Grimm had seemed a good idea, but not, standing at the threshold and staring into that foreboding treeline, he wasn't so sure.

Theoretically, students weren't allowed to enter the forest solo. The school mandated groups of three students at minimum enter but enforced the rule with a lax eye. After all, some of the more exceptional students preferred hunting alone, and teammates would only drag them down.

Jaune wasn't one of them.

Before he could lose his nerve, Jaune forced himself to walk forward. One, two, one… a step at a time, he told himself. Soon, he was immersed in trees, the sun a mere afterthought through the concealing shade of the branches.

It was quiet. Almost too quiet.

Something shuffled behind him. His foot caught on something hard—

"Eek!" he shrieked, fumbling Crocea Mors to a grip and jumping around.

Rather than the imposing claw of a Beowolf, however, he found a twig stuck to his shoe.

Releasing his breath, he kicked it away.

Something about this had him on edge. Or maybe it was his natural tendency to be a scaredy-cat?

As he settled his still-hammering heart and resolved to continue, something shifted in the bushes before him.

He braced himself as something massive emerged from the undergrowth.

He clenched his teeth, his knuckles turning white as his grip on Crocea Mors tightened. This was no twig.

An adolescent Beowolf stood before him, its cruel eyes regarding him. A body like a thick skeleton fleshed with the essence of shadow, it cut an imposing figure against the foliage. A low snarl escaped its lips.

For a moment, they stared at each other, neither willing to make the first move.

The, the Beowolf struck first.

Jaune almost couldn't react, but his body did for him.

Basic Swordsmanship kicked in. With a reinforced parry, he met the creature's swipe. The impact wasn't the devastating blow he'd expected— a serious weight, sure, but not an unbearable one. Level-ups brought serious advantages, and the change in his physique in even just the last level was marked.

The force transferred across his legs and into the ground, driving furrows in the dirt. As the swing neared its end, he wrenched his wrist, throwing the limb off of Crocea Mors' hilt.

Gasping, he shifted back, staring at his hand in wonder.

Sword composition, swordsmanship understanding, observation… all of his experience condensed in his mind. Suddenly, that hulking beast didn't look so intimidating— he _knew_ he could counter.

The Grimm had been shafted to the side by his parry. Now, as it circled around for another attack, he was ready to intercept it.

Beowolves weren't very intelligent, apparently.

The second attack followed in similar fashion to the first. Throwing up a block, Jaune managed to stop the blow. This time, it pounced following its first attack. He sidestepped the hasty attack, and his sword drew a serrated arc across the Beowolf's body.

**[****Skill Level Up! ****Basic Swordsmanship] **

**Represents the user's ability to wield swords in combat. **

**Level ****2**

Every level up came with a jolt to his system. This one was no exception. Even just by slashing twice experimentally, Jaune could feel the difference in fluidity and power. His range of attacks seemed to expand as well— as the Beowolf returned to its assault, a few other options surfaced In his mind.

His mind whirred. The Beowolf was being horribly predictable— and as terrible a student as Jaune was, he at least understood that such behavior practically begged for a counter. He had just the thing.

As the Beowolf approached, he reviewed the move in his head. A moment later, bone and fur met harsh steel.

Rather than avoiding the blow, Jaune stepped in and under the assault before following with a hard thrust. Crocea Mors found purchase in flesh and the Beowolf roared, bucking. Pain flared down Jaune's own leg and he stepped back, wincing and inspecting the wound. His Aura had taken the brunt of the damage, but it hurt like hell— his sidestep hadn't been clean. Something had clipped him when he struck— a claw, maybe?

He winced. So Level 2 of Basic Swordsmanship had limits. Duly noted. At least he'd hurt the Beowolf more than it'd hurt him.

The beast now writhed on the ground with low growls, its body like some spastic snake. His thrust had torn a good chunk from its chest, making a mess of its musculature. Panting, he stepped in and finished the job with a clean slash.

This time, there was no satisfaction, only grim anticipation.

**[Enemy slain: Beowolf ] **

**Reward: 300 EXP **

So his suspicion was correct— killing Grimm _did _yield experience. Provided he could find a steady stream of Grimm to kill without getting killed himself, maybe this would help alleviate his dependency on quests.

He hadn't really had time to think about it before, what with the frenetic pace of do-or-die quests, but his life essentially hinged on completing these tasks. That didn't sit well with him— he was essentially _compelled_ to complete them. To be honest, he'd never been the most independent person, but even he could recognize that being lead around the nose indefinitely by a system he didn't understand was pretty crappy.

In any case, that 300 EXP had put him within arm's reach of a level.

His eyes scanned the forest around him. Just one more Grimm— preferably a weaker one, like a runt boarbatusk?

As though on cue, a pair of red eyes flared from the darkness.

The ground shook. Heavy paws drew scuffs in the ground with each step. Jaune gulped and stepped back as a frame much burlier than the Beowolf's emerged. Tons of sheer muscle beneath a sheen of fine fur and spiked bone.

Ursa.

A Beowolf was one thing, but Jaune _really_ wasn't sure if he was ready to tangle with that behemoth of a Grimm. Ursa were very rare in this forest. The last time he'd heard of a sighting, it'd been from a group of upperclassmen out raiding. They didn't escape unscathed.

Worse still, the thing seemed agitated. Its body trembled as it beheld him, its mouth dipping into a row of clenched teeth.

Jaune debated fighting for a moment. How confident was he that he could take it? His body still rushed with adrenaline from his last bout, but he was feeling pretty good. Maybe unduly, but that's how it was.

Then, two more pairs of red emerged. Two Beowolves lumbered into the open, each as large as the one he'd defeated.

He glanced at them, then at the Ursa, then at himself.

And ran.

=II=

"Aiii! Help! HELP!"

There was no shame in screaming like a damsel in distress as the three bloodthirsty Grimm pursued him. He could hear the crunch of twigs under their feet as he zigged and zagged through the trees, trying desperately to shake them. How were they so massive, and yet so agile? It wasn't fair!

The only advantage he had was his small stature. He could weave between and around trees at speeds much faster than they could, though the Ursa just kind of barreled through them. How much farther until he reached the academy? The trees all started to look the same. His stomach dropped.

What was this terrible luck? One Ursa was bad enough— such higher-class Grimm were rare in this forest. But for another two Beowolves to appear? If it weren't ridiculous, he might've suspected foul play.

A sharp pain in his leg broke through his thoughts. He glanced back— how was that Beowolf so close?! Screaming, he thrust out Crocea Mors's shield aspect and caught its body off-balance. WIth a pained roar, it fell back, tumbling into its compatriots in a mass of black limbs.

Jaune took off again.

"Help! HELP!" he cried. His legs were starting to burn, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this pace up.

A few seconds passed in which all that made noise were the frenzy pattering of his feet on soft dirt and the wild thumping of his heartbeat. The air in front of him seemed to obscure as he ran, growing murky and nebulous from the shadows ahead.

That last tactic hadn't bought him much time if the thumps behind him gaining in volume were any indication. Worse still, he wasn't any clearer on where he was heading— or how much more rope he had left.

There— ahead, through the row of trees, salvation! He increased his pace to the maximum. His thighs burned underneath him— just a little more!

A shadow cut before him and he skidded to a halt on instinct.

A Beowolf stood between him and freedom. He could see Pharos's gates in the distance behind its thick head beckoning to him. As he turned, trying to find a way out, the Ursa and the second Beowolf brought up the rear. They'd trapped him.

Crud.

Crocea Mors jumped to his hands and he turned, trying to keep them all in his field of vision. They circled in like hungry sharks, shaving off the little room he had to manuever. Soon, he'd be fighting all three.

He couldn't allow that to happen. His best bet was trying to get that front Beowolf out of the way somehow, then leap through fast enough to evade the Ursa and the other Beowolf. There wasn't time to plan anything else. So he ran.

A guttural cry escaped his lips as he jumped at the Beowolf, putting all of his bodyweight behind the slam.

To his surprise, the Grimm seemed to have expected it. Its limbs hunched, loading up, before it jumped up to meet his force with its own.

They collided mid-air. Even through the dampening field of the shield of Crocea Mors, the impact still felt like he'd been hit by a crashing bullhead.

His vision blurred as his body cracked across the ground once, then again. The whole left side of his body flared with pain. Salty liquid filled his mouth, and he spat out his own blood.

"H-help!" he gasped, fighting through his own gore. "Anyone!"

Dimly, in the midst of his hazy vision, he made out the silhouette of a crow circling against the backdrop of the blue sky.

Was this the end? How anticlimactic. Maybe he shouldn't have overestimated his abilities and tried for Grimm hunting. He didn't know. This many high-level Grimm should, in theory, almost never be found together— at least in this area. Just his dumb luck, he supposed.

He grasped Crocea Mors and struggled to a seated position , his aura conglomerating around him and mending the damage.

If he was going to go down, he'd go down fighting.

In his mind, his status appeared.

Name: **Jaune Arc**

**Level: 7 **

**EXP: 310/700**

**CON: ****7/****16 (+)**

**STR: 16 (+)**

**DEX: 14 (+)**

**AGI: 14 (+)**

**INT: 14 (+)**

**WIS:****14 (+)**

**Lifespan Remaining: 4 days**

**Stat Points: 2 Unspent**

With his remaining two points, he boosted his constitution twice. It now read 9/18— enough for him to take one of these Grimm down with him, he hoped.

Before he could act, a flash of feathers and blackness materialized before him.

A tall man appeared where once lay empty space, a gargantuan sword in hand.

"Imagine— I'm on a trip to meet with Pharos' top brass, and who do I see? A stranded kid surrounded by Grimm," the man drawled, regarding Jaune with striking red eyes.

"Please— help me! I don't know how— they came out of nowhere—"

"Relax, kid. I heard you the first twelve times." The man rolled his eyes.

If the Ursa and the Beowolves had been fazed by this development, they got over it quickly.

One pounced from the left, the other from the right, a pincer of several tons of muscle and rending bone ready to make a meat sandwich out of Jaune's benefactor. He struggled to his feet and hefted his blade, trying to square himself to the attackers.

The man stretched an arm and flipped the sword between his hands as though it weighed as much as a feather.

Two streaks of black. Two pained cries. The man became a phantom, a blur, and Jaune couldn't follow even the afterimages of the massive sword. There was a ripple in the air like the waking yawn of some great beast.

When in the presence of tremendous force, the human mind noticed. A faint sense of unease filled those gaps in thought—like trepidation before a massive earthquake or a foreboding churn of the stomach before a volcanic eruption. It was the herald of the truly powerful, reserved for events of such unfathomable might as to be termed forces of nature. Jaune felt that sensation now.

The Grimm fell, bisected.

He gaped. Who was this, and how the hell did he do that?!

**Qrow Branwen**

**Level: ? **

How big was the gap between them that he couldn't even fathom this man's level? That sword… the movements… every action clean, precise, and blindingly fast. Jaune hadn't thought the moniker 'Basic' fit for his swordsmanship— he'd slain a Grimm with it! Only now did he understand. There were levels to this.

"You just going to stand there and gape? No 'thank you'?" The man snorted, sheathing his massive weapon. "Kids these days. Ingrates."

"Thank you!" Jaune blurted. "I can't imagine what would've happened… thank you. Really."

"That's better."

The man— Qrow— uncorked a flask by his side and took a swig. Some high-electrolyte drink for high-performing Huntsmen such as himself, no doubt.

"Let this be a lesson, kiddo. If I find you wandering around forests alone again, I won't bother interfering. If you're going to be an idiot, may as well remove yourself from the gene pool. Name's Qrow Branwen, teacher at Signal Academy. I'm here to meet your headmistress."

=II=

The man saw Jaune off at Pharos's gates. Jaune felt as he'd felt the first few hours after receiving his Gamer system— bewildered, almost in disbelief. It seemed to him almost beyond the realm of comprehension that the human body could produce such ludicrous amounts of force.

What level must he be? Eighty, ninety? Or even higher, if levels went beyond one hundred?

He wandered back to his dorm in a semi-daze. Somewhere along the way, the sun has slipped below the horizon, and the young, evening moon began its sordid trek across the night sky.

Jaune headed for the cafeteria, lost in thought. He hadn't managed to achieve a full level— a disappointment— but at least he was still alive, right? There wasn't much point in meeting a deadline if he was dead before he reached that line. Those Grimm, though… something didn't feel right. There shouldn't have been an Ursa in the first place, not to mention two Beowolves to back it up. Far, far too strong for this area. This was meant to be a proving ground, not a slaughterhouse.

If someone was targeting him, they very nearly succeeded. But who would do such a thing— and why? He hadn't offended anyone that he could think of. Whatever the case, he'd need to be on the lookout.

=II=

Name: **Jaune Arc**

**Level: 7 **

**EXP: ****6****10/700**

**CON: ****9/18**

**STR: 16 **

**DEX: 14 **

**AGI: 14 **

**INT: 14 **

**WIS: 14 **

**Lifespan Remaining: ****3**** days**

**Stat Points: ****0 **

Another day, another grind. His experience points seemed to accumulate linearly, by 100 experience for level. Which meant… 800 + 900 + 90— 1790 experience points until the next level. So… about the equivalent of six-ish Beowolves, or two large Quests.

Thus far, just attending classes yielded new Quests. That one foray into the forest was enough for now. He couldn't afford a recurrence of Grimm ambush; even just thinking about it scared him. Maybe he'd been overconfident. Yesterday's events were a shocking reminder that his faster progression didn't make him invincible. Risk and caution required balance.

As he entered the classroom, he noticed a projected list of names on the wide blackboard at the front of the classroom— the class ranking.

1\. Scarlet David… 5. Jaron Nikos… 16. Jaune Arc.

He blinked. 16 out of 30? Not bad. Much better than he'd ever been ranked.

**[Quest: ****Rank Up****] **

**Rank within the top 5 of the class.**

**Reward: ****2000 ****EXP.**

**Accept? Y/N**

2000 EXP?!

More than enough to achieve Level 10. What did it entail?

Beating his way through the top rankings of the class within 3 days meant he couldn't just sit back and allow Mr. Insley's matchmaking to run its course. No— he had to actively challenge his classmates.

He accepted the Quest, sighing. Now that Grimm hunting was out of the picture, this appeared his last lifeline. His whole life was overcoming ridiculous odds. This was nothing special. If he ever fought his way out of this mire, he vowed to find any way to remove his life sentence; the last few days showed him that he'd rather be ordinary and alive than dead and talented.

Tentative plan: increase lifespan by completing this quest, graduate from Pharos, and begin independent research on what was happening to him. Just two days ago, he'd been dead set on attending Beacon. Now, he felt no such desire. Staying alive superseded all else.

**A/N **

**The reasons behind his receiving the Gamer system and its mechanics will be explored. **


End file.
